This poetry collection is a lyrical record of life in the small village of Sklithron (Zeleniche) in Western Macedonia (Greece), and of the journey of emigration to an adopted homeland, Canada. Through memory, place, and longing, these poems honour the people and everyday moments that shaped a generation.
Written by Kosmas Yotis, this collection preserves the voice of village life and the experience of leaving home—carrying the past forward while building a new life abroad.
PROLOGUE
The poems within this website
Aim to capture memories
They create a moment in time
And instill a sense of nostalgia
Those written to remind us
Of other eras
Old friends, old neighbourhoods
And forgotten feelings
To make us laugh and to make us cry
And to shout with joy
This book is also
A reminder of the fact
That when we were growing up
Many of the stories we heard
Were something more than stories
They were lived experiences
From our families
Experiences that shaped
Not only their values
But also their character
As well as
These poems will be
Stories and experiences
That will pass on to the next generation
And help strengthen
The enduring bond Between grandparent and grandchild
From a young age I loved This village In its irrigation channels I grew up Playing in the water And when the sun came out From behind the mountain Barefoot yet happy I welcomed it And when dawn softly broke At the edge of the village It was the start of an endless Summer day Bread and salt we ate But like little children We asked nothing We had freedom Riding on my little donkey In the cool ...
On the fourth of March I left the village And went to Athens From there I would come here And I would have a fine time My cabin was down in the depths On the Queen Frederica Three others and myself Locked in like mice We stopped in Naples It was the first stop Up to there we had a good time It still hadn’t hit us yet When we left Gibraltar Out on the open waters Very few of us remained standing ...
You become a stranger in your own place A stranger in foreign lands They changed our names And they look like boxes So, you can have a permit to work An uncle tells me The old ones have to change The names, above all A thousand up and down in the piggybank They called me Box It didn’t bother me very much I’m not going to stay there anyway First job in Canada Washing dishes, and lots of them It ...
After sixth grade Our minds were on the village stroll In our Sunday best To steal a little look The girls, arm in arm One in red, one in blue We didn’t know if they were enchanting us Or making fun of us After so many walks The girls didn’t enchant us What enchanted us were the smells from the bakery And we searched our pockets for drachmas And like the fox With the unripe grapes We set our ...
I was talking with a friend of mine He tells me he can’t sleep His little dog was killed And he grieves for it deeply “I had it like a small child,” he said “So it wouldn’t drip or get wet I took it out every morning Before the sun had risen yet It never once offended me It never talked back It only looked me in the eyes And wagged its tail I wish I knew if someday We will meet again If they too ...
A young woman was weaving With white thread at the loom She was wearing a black dress Her future was sombre Why is your thread white And your clothing black Are you mourning your mother Your old father perhaps I do not mourn my mother Nor my father My youth has turned black And I weep night and day Swiftly your youth passes Quickly time slips away Cast off your black clothes So your sorrow may ...
In Grandista, three young maidens Were gathering chamomile. They heard some thunderclaps Before the sun had set. On the ridge of Eleo lightning flashed, In Strebreno it thundered, In Zelenich rain was falling, And Gurlo could not contain it. The rain grew stronger, The rocks began to roll, The torrent swelled and raged, Flooding all the fields. They climbed upon a hillside, Trying to save ...
Spring of ’48 But there was no celebration. No lambs were roasting in the village Those who had remained Wanted only peace They ran toward their destination To protect Whatever was left That was still their own Many underage children Had stayed in the village Others had been left orphans With no purpose at all They ran like hunted birds Through roads and fields Their clothes all worn and old Torn ...
Just before midnight, on a summer night, our windows half-open, yet not a single word was heard. From the mountain opposite the moon was rising. A shadow appeared in the alley beside the marketplace. Footsteps were heard in haste, heading toward the river. Someone had gone to fetch Babo Geraka, the midwife. Labour pains seized the mother, and she said her prayer. She wished for nothing else but ...
The Last Breath of a Guerrilla Fighter Before dawn on Holy Wednesday, fighting in the battle of Lia, they had spoken to him of freedom. His body collapsed upon the earth, yet he no longer felt pain. His soul separated from the body, invisible, gazing from above. While stray bullets flew, they could no longer touch his soul. It was one of those futile days, like a little boat without oars. He saw ...
